


recognition

by aweekofsaturdays



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Bathroom Sex, Desperation, Devotion, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Victory Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/pseuds/aweekofsaturdays
Summary: Sid just wants to show Flower how much he appreciates him.





	recognition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [staalthighs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staalthighs/gifts), [tabris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabris/gifts).



> As always, this story is about fictional characters and has no bearing on or relation to anything in real life.

They won. They fucking won game 1 of their second Stanley Cup Final appearance in a row. They file off the ice and Sid is exhilarated and a little ashamed of himself because all he can think about is that it wasn’t Flower in net, it still isn’t Flower in net, no matter how healthy he is or how well he’s played. 

Flower always thinks to himself that despite the popularity of the Two-Headed Monster, it’s been just about as long that The Captain and His Goalie have been together on the ice, one out afield poking holes in the defense and one back in net, protecting the home fires. It sucks to be stuck on the bench, mask stowed away, watching his captain work without him.

Sid gets stuck in the media scrum and Flower gets a question or two himself, mostly about Murray, and he redirects the conversation to the team’s hard work, because it’s not the kid’s fault the management is raring and ready to go for the next era of Pittsburgh goaltending before the rest of them are. It’s just business, right?

Finally, they can both get a moment’s peace, and Marc-Andre quirks an eyebrow at Sid from across the room as they change. He thinks he’ll get a proud grin, tempered with the evenness of Sid’s quickly-neutral face as he remembers their victory didn’t entirely include Flower. 

What Marc-Andre actually gets is the kind of look he’s seen when Sid’s on the ice, steady and ready to explode off a faceoff, something simmering underneath that people seem to want to try and chirp out of him more often than not. Marc-Andre shivers, and not just from the chill of the dressing room. He knows that face.

\-------

Marc-Andre thanks the lord for that face, and what it means, in the private bathroom at the rink, the nice one, because what that face means is that his knees struggle to keep him upright against the wall as Sid kneels on the tile before him, working him over with his mouth mercilessly. Marc-Andre steadily feeds his dick into Sid’s red, waiting mouth, biting his lip to stay quiet as Sid just watches him, steady, rubbing the flat of his tongue softly against the underside of his dick.

Marc-Andre shudders because this is Sid, the golden boy, always picked first, and Sid could have anyone he wants at this point, and what Sid still wants is....this, after all this time. Flower fucks a little deeper into Sid’s waiting throat, watching him gag and tear up, Sid pulling his head back and shaking it off before determinedly licking his way back down. He looks drunk, hazy, flushed with victory and he rubs his big hands up and down Flower’s thighs, just groping him shamelessly, touching everywhere, thumbing up between his cheeks (and Flower jumps and swears and Sid moans at the thrust Marc-Andre involuntarily makes) and tugging at his balls and just making a mess of himself with the sloppiness of it. 

Sid tugs Flower’s hands into his hair and grins up at him around the dick in his mouth and Marc-Andre has to close his eyes for a second or lose it entirely, because Sid flushed and grinning and sucking him down is the #1 guaranteed thing to make him lose his fucking mind. He weaves his fingers into Sid’s hair and tugs, hard, because he knows Sid loves it, loves the edge of pain keeping him grounded, directing his movements as they get more sloppy, drool spilling out of his mouth and slicking everything up as Marc-Andre moves, fucking his mouth gently, bringing himself closer to orgasm.

It isn’t even a particular moment, nothing catches his attention or is anything different than what they’ve done a hundred times before but he looks down at Sid and he didn’t even think he was that close but he’s only human and it’s suddenly _there_ , his hands clenching tight in Sid’s hair and his own voice gasping out some jumble of French and English as he pulses into Sid’s mouth, holding Sid close and letting himself just clench and thrust and thrust and _thrust_. 

Flower comes back into his head, trembling and limp and shocked he’s still upright, and opens his eyes and what he sees is devastating because Sid is making these amazing noises, mouth still full of cock, groaning and whining as he rubs at himself through his gym shorts, like this is the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to him, being on his knees for his goalie in the Stanley Cup fucking playoffs, both so desperate for it they couldn’t even make it home. 

Sid rolls his hips so that the underside of his cock rubs up against the waistband of his shorts, the head just peeking out, swollen and slick and red. He palms at himself, canting his hips forward, rubbing at his cock almost delicately, so strung out Flower knows he won’t be able to hold on for much longer. He pulls off Flower’s dick just to breathe, harshly, gasping for air and mouth red and wet and open against Marc-Andre’s stomach, and Flower can barely move but he manages to adjust his feet, slide one leg between Sid’s knees and rub up a little less than gently, and Sid makes a sound like he’s dying and comes all over himself, shaking and swearing and clutching at Flower’s hips as he rides out the tremors. 

They stay there for a moment, Flower’s hands still in Sid’s hair but combing through it now, gently, rubbing at his scalp and neck soothingly. Sid’s just…breathing, mouth open and slick against the cut of Flower’s hip, hands firm but tender as he holds on. Flower watches him come back to himself in increments, and he knows that Sid’s going to get picky and want to clean up in a minute, plus his knees must be sore from the bathroom tile. 

“Hey, let me take you home,” he says softly, tilting Sid’s face up to look at him and brushing the hair away from his forehead. “Veronique will be waiting and the babies will be asleep.” Sid blinks up at him, blissfully. 

“That sounds nice,” Sid grins, the goofy kind of smile that makes Marc-Andre feel something loosening in his chest, for the first time in a while. “I’d like that.”

They gather themselves slowly, and Marc-Andre takes the time once Sid’s up to tug him forward and kiss him, languidly, like they have all the time in the world. Sid sighs contentedly into it and Marc-Andre can’t help but echo it. Whatever happens, whatever’s next they’ll always have each other, and family, and this.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to talk to me if you love these boys as much as I do. T_T Comments welcome!


End file.
